


the lovers that could never be

by Blownwish



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Drug and Alcohol Use, Father Leroy, Hand Jobs, M/M, Pliroy, Underage Sex, clergy sex, not much clergy kink sorry, problematic relationship, runaway Yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 12:18:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12606468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blownwish/pseuds/Blownwish
Summary: He is a priest, he is in love with a fifteen year old runaway, and he’s not sorry. He just wishes he was.PLEASE BE ADVISED!Not much clergy kink at all. Yes, I have failed you. What is the point of writing clergy au, even? Idk





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Live beta’d by [Annabeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/pseuds/annabeth) with so much encouragement from [Phayte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phayte/pseuds/Phayte). 
> 
> Bless you.

He’s got a fifteen-year-old boy on his knees, he’s got a fifteen-year-old boy sucking him off, and he's got this fifteen-year-old boy gagging on it. He should be sorry. He should be ashamed. He should be horrified. But he isn’t, no.

Father Leroy feels so good. Feels so good he forgets about the long nights alone and the hard days ahead. Days filled denying himself for others. There’s little Mrs Mayes, a Philippina widow who needs help keeping her addict son clean. Mr Finnigan keeps losing the lawn care contracts Father Leroy finds for him and this time he needs a thousand dollars for his electric bill. St Anthony High keeps tapping him to coach the soccer team because the team keeps hazing the other coaches out of a job. The Villanuevas' grandmother needed Last Rites; and he’s got three Catechism classes - three - scheduled. And Covenant House needs thirty hours a week, minimum out of him. And -

Yuri pulls off, Yuri laps at the tip of Father Leroy’s dick as he jerks the foreskin up and down, up and down. As he keeps looking up at Father Leroy. As Father Leroy combs the soft, blonde hair away from his face. As Father Leroy bites his lip. “You’re so hard, Jeh Jeh. You wanna fuck me?”

“Don’t say it like that.” Father Leroy sinks to his knees. Cups Yuri’s face, lets his hands slip over the cheap pink t-shirt, the tight jeans, then up and under the shirt so he can feel all the heat in Yuri’s eyes. “I love you. I make love to you.”

He has nothing but this. The car he drives, the clothes he wears, the barebones rectory he sleeps in, with the rickety old twin bed that squeaks whenever he remembers he’s a man and touches himself, they all belong to the Church and a god who, most likely, was never there. All of these things are Church property and so is Father Leroy. But Yuri Plisetsky doesn’t. He’s not even Catholic. But he’s Father Leroy’s. Yuri moans as he rubs his nipples. That moan is his. Yuri arches his back as he bites his neck. Those marks are his. Yuri curses as Father Leroy reaches down, between his legs, and rubs him over his jeans. This boy belongs to him. He gives himself to him, lets Father Leroy lay him out like a sacrificial lamb, and Yuri gives himself to him.

“What a load of bullshit.”

“No,” Father Leroy has placed him on the wooden sacristy table, with the Eucharist chalices. “No, you can’t tell me how I feel.”

Yuri laughs. “Whatever.” The boy gets what he wants. He will always get what he wants. He kicks off his pants and he scoots up and a chalice falls to the floor and he pulls Father Leroy down. He offers his open mouth. He hums when Father Leroy pushes his tongue against his. When Father Leroy pushes his cock against him. Moans when Father Leroy thrusts, just a little, just enough. Yuri always comes to the sacristy prepared. The lube is so slick. Yuri is so tight. Father Leroy is so needy. He slams himself in as Yuri grabs his hair.

“Jeh Jeh!”

This is the only thing he’s got.

“Fuck me! Fuck me as hard and as fast as you can!”

This is the only thing he’s got.

“Like that! Oh, fuck yeah! Hurt me! Hurt me!”

This is it. This is all. This boy, these moments, this fire between them. Everything else belongs to Holy Mother Church. But Father Leroy has this. Has him. He shoves himself inside, one last time. One last time and he can’t help himself -

_I love you!_

He does. He loves Yuri Plisetsky more than anything. And he’s not sorry. He is not repentant. He’s biting down on that milky skin, and he’s so happy because his beautiful boy is coming. Yuri’s coming, and it’s just for him.

++

His father would never understand. Men were supposed to marry and have children. “It’s our immortality.” And Jean-Jacques never understood how a Catholic, with a communion wafer deep in his gullet, could say something like that - and during after Mass coffee and donuts, to boot!

“You sound like Richard Dawkins, Papa.” Jean-Jacques popped his last Timmy’s donut hole in his mouth. He only got three, because he knew how expensive they were and he didn’t want to be a glutton. “Our souls are immortal. Not our children.” He smiled. “Not that I’m dying anytime soon.”

“Son,” Alain turned the paper cup nervously with his fingertips, “you’re eighteen, you’re young, you don’t know what you’re giving up.” He nodded toward Jean-Jacques’ mother, who was busily herding his nine siblings away from the Timmies boxes. “Life is long when you’re lonely.”

“But I won’t be alone if I’m a priest. I’ll have a parish family. And I’ll be married to the Church.”

“Isabella Yang isn’t the only girl in the world.”

Jean-Jacques stared at the plain wooden beams behind his father. He did the same thing when he listened to her explain why they weren’t going to _’work out,’_ during lunch period, last Wednesday, as if they were an equation with a variable she couldn’t define. How could he say the reason? She wouldn’t have understood. They’d made out so many times in Papa’s Ram truck, and she’d felt how hard it made him. Papa had seen the hickies on his neck. He wouldn’t understand. He responded because she was sweet and he was human. But he wasn’t thinking about what was under her blouse or between her legs when he got hard. He was pretending something else was there. He was imagining another boy.

Papa would never understand.

“I don’t want another girl. I don’t want any girls.” But he wasn’t going to lie. He couldn’t do that to his father. He respected him too much. “That’s why.”

His father’s eyebrow went up. “That’s not a reason. You’re supposed to feel a calling.”

“I do.” Jean-Jacques took a deep breath. “I believe. I want to do something with that belief. Something more than wear a cross and volunteer on summer break.” And put aside the dirty thoughts that plagued him in the locker room before hockey practice. Jesus would help him if he made that sacrifice, and Jesus wanted Jean-Jacques to honor his mother and father. Jesus didn’t want the Leroy’s to grieve because their first born son was a fag.

“You know how I feel, son. The Church asks too much. To expect a man to live alone, it’s too much to ask.” He took Jean-Jacques’ hand. “There’s a lot a man comes to understand in life. A lot he realizes he knows and doesn’t know. One thing I know, for sure? We all need somebody.”

“I’ll have the Church.”

He sighed. “Son, the Church doesn’t keep you warm.”

++

Father Leroy isn’t used to Texas. It’s the little things that make him miss Montreal: Dunkin Donuts instead of Timmies, football instead of hockey, Spanish and Southern English instead of Québécois, and no snow. It never snows in San Antonio. It only iced over once a year, and it sends the city into pure panic, every time.

He was wearing the old Pajar snow boots his mother bought on clearance when he was a high school senior, when he watched a kid step into an ice puddle in from of the youth homeless shelter. This being south Texas, the ice broke and the water soaked his sneaker. Poor kid, he thought. He’s homeless and now he’s probably ruined his one good pair of shoes. Covenant House wasn’t Target, they didn’t have a secret vault full of clothes and footwear that would all magically manage to fit every kid. They didn’t even have enough cots.

The kid was cursing, and he was flipping off a couple of boys who were saying terrible things. _Princess gonna cry?_ But he wasn’t crying. He was jumping up and he was about to _kick_ the biggest one, a heavy set Mexican kid with a teardrop tattooed on his cheek.

Father Leroy wasn’t in high demand at the shelter just because he could speak Spanish and play guitar. He jumped between the kid and certain death, grabbed screaming fury-in-a-hoodie, and tumbled to the icy ground, taking a fist to the gut before he could pin him down.

“Get the fuck off me!”

His name was Yuri Plisetsky and Father Leroy was his shadow for the rest of the day, starting with a ride to Target for new, dry clothes. He hid underneath his hoodie, muttering about Joaquin and how many ways Joaquin would die, as he made a dirty wet spot on the front seat of Father Leroy’s Crown Victoria.

He kept his face hidden when they walked through the isles, only took his hand out of his pockets to grab a t shirt - just a plain white t-shirt - and said, “That’s all.”

“You need shoes. And a jacket to keep warm. Pants, too.”

Then he saw - Yuri glared up at him with the face of an angel, and took his breath away. “I’ll give you head. That’s worth a shirt. That’s it. Just head, _Father_.” Such ugly words from such a beautiful face. And those eyes… those sad, soulful eyes. “What? Quit looking at me like that. Like I don’t know. You priests are all perverts.”

Father Leroy found a pair of twenty eight inch jeans in men’s, and had to guess at Yuri’s shoe size. “Relax. I’m taking you right back to Covenant House.” He put the charge on his personal debit card. He put the bags in his trunk. He put the boy back in the front seat and didn’t dare look at him, again. “Don’t go near Joaquin. He’s already Latin Kings soldier.” He started the engine and drove down the 410 at a snail’s pace. San Antonio had no sand trucks. He missed Quebec. They knew how to handle the cold in Quebec. “And don’t take anymore booters.”

“Anymore _what_?”

Father Leroy smiled. “Booter - stepping into puddles and soaking your feet.”

He didn’t get out of the car when Father Leroy pulled into the parking lot. He just sat there. Father Leroy tapped the glass and he refused to open the door. He just looked through the glass. “You have to go back to your room,” said Father Leroy.

He cracked the door open and looked up at him with those big, beautiful eyes. “Are you a fag?”

The bags felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. “I’m taking these to your room, is what I am.”

“You’re a fag. Only a fag answers like that. Besides, you’re a priest. So why don’t you want me to pay you back? And don’t tell me it’s because of Jesus. You priests are all about fucking boys.” He laid back in the seat and licked his lips. “Besides, I’ve been looking at you. You know you look good, right? I’d do more than head.” Father Leroy felt his face burn as Yuri looked him over. “Yeah, I bet you’re a real animal underneath that collar.”

“I’m not an animal. I’m a human being.” He spoke before he thought. “Look, this - “ he shook his head “ - this conversation isn’t going to happen.” He pried the door open and nodded toward the grey building. “Get changed. Get something to eat. Stay away from Latin Kings. I’ll talk to Marie about Joaquin.”

He smiled up at Father Leroy. It was like sunshine. Father Leroy had to look away. “Yeah, you know you look good. I saw the way you walked through the store. You’re used to people doing those double takes, huh? You get lots of ass, Father Leroy.”

“If I wanted to live that way I wouldn’t have become a priest.”

“So, if you weren’t a priest, you _would_ be getting a lot of ass - right? Horny _and_ egotistical.” Yuri stood up. His finger ran down Father Leroy’s hand before it hooked around the bag handles. “It’s amazing, right? All the things people tell you, without meaning to say?” He bit his lip. “I’d treat you so good, Father. So good, you’d forget all about the others. You’d never let me go.” Then he licked his lips.

 _Crisse!_ Father Leroy stared at his mouth. The boy saw through him, and now Yuri was showing himself, or what he showed everyone he wanted to have sex with. Yuri pulled off his hoodie and tossed his hair back as if he were in a movie scene. As if he’d played this part before. The thought didn’t keep the worst from happening. Father Leroy felt _frisson_ , a strange rush that set his hair on end, because Yuri Plisetsky was this _creamy blond pixie_ \- Father Leroy let out a nervous laugh because he just realized he could tug the bags just a little and Yuri Plisetsky would be close enough to taste. No, he couldn’t let himself even consider. _”How old are you?”_

“Fifteen. Too old for a priest, right?” His wet sneaker rubbed up against his boot. “I’ll make up for it, Father. Believe me, I will.”

“Go.” He let go of the bags. He walked back to his driver’s side door. He looked over the top and Yuri was still standing there. Still smiling. Still looking through him. He could see all the emptiness of Jean-Jacques’ lonely bedroom, the dull ache all the masturbation in the world couldn’t take away, all the exhaustion Jean-Jacques’ twenty-seven years couldn’t contain.

“I already made a move. You’re turn, next.”

He should’ve felt concerned. He should’ve gone to the office and told Marie about the hypersexuality and aggressive behavior. The social worker already “lost” Father Leroy’s background check three times before the fourth (clean one) came back, and demanded weekly reports about his activities. He always assumed those were easily ignored until now, because all he was doing was staring as Yuri took the bags with another lick of the lips turn and a slow walk - right through a row of icy puddles.

Father Leroy snorted. “Watch where you’re going.”

“And maybe warn a person, Father?” He was smiling over his shoulder.

He should’ve reported the entire incident. Priests were suspicious these days. Father Leroy understood, but he didn’t do it.

++

He’s gone out for a 5 am jog ever since freshman year, playing left wing for Mt Carmel High’s junior varsity hockey team. He likes going down Ramsay street. Last July, cicadas sang in the mesquite trees. Now all that heavy air is as fine as frost on a window pain. It’s always just a chill, practically balmy to a Canadian. There are still mesquite pods dangling from their branches. It’s like summer never lets go of South Texas.

Father Leroy sees the brick at his stoop is standing upright; this means Yuri’s waiting behind the juniper shrub between the limestone church and rectory. Father Leroy leaves the front door unlocked, and heads for the kitchen. Priests don’t have housekeepers anymore. The last one retired twelve years ago, after old Father Stein retired to St Gregory’s. Modern priests were raised by mothers who taught them how to push brooms and were expected save the diocese on payroll. He manages to keep more dishes in the cabinet than the sink, which is saying quite a bit since he doesn’t have very many. He's had two glasses of tap water when the door opens.

“Want something to eat?” He knows it’s too soon to ask, but he feels obligated to offer.

He feels the lightest touch on his left shoulder, circles growing larger and larger. “I like you in normal clothes.” He has to smile when Yuri talks like that. “Did you go to that school?”

“Yes.” The circles have become a two handed back rub. Father Leroy closes his eyes and rolls his head back as Yuri presses his thumbs and palms into the knots. He’d gotten a bachelors in Letters from the University of Toronto. It was a soft degree program, nothing like the grind his cousin Linus described in premed, but it was essential for seminary.

“You have to be pretty smart to get a degree and be a priest, right?” His voice is so soft and low. His hands are still cold. They feel good. He feels good.

Father Leroy looks over his shoulder. “Obviously?”

Yuri shoves with his elbow. “I can’t believe how egotistical - !” He does it again, and this time Yuri laughs.

Father Leroy turns around because he’s not going to get a third jab. Takes Yuri in his arms and tastes morning breath. Takes a chunk of hair, pulls his head back and tastes Dial soap on his neck. Gets on his knees, pulls down his jeans, and tastes a hint of piss on his soft dick. “You still live with him?”

“Don’t be like that.” Yuri’s playing with his hair. “He’s not my boyfriend. It’s business.”

Father Leroy is playing with his dick, nuzzling and mouthing and licking at it. “That’s not what I asked you. Nikiforov guy, you live with him, still.”

“I understand if you’re jealous.” Yuri combs the hair away from Father Leroy’s eyes. “He takes care of me.” He’s hard enough, now. So Father Leroy takes him in his mouth. “I’d rather live with you, though.” It doesn’t matter if it’s a lie or if he really means it. Yuri will never live with him; it’s just being said because it feels good, like this blow job. Father Leroy wishes he didn’t know that Nikiforov looked like a character out of a sexy spy novel, or that he had a three story house in Alamo Heights that looked like a wedding cake. He wishes he didn’t know Nikiforov drove a silver Spider. Or that the expensive Calvin’s around Yuri’s hips were bought and paid for on his account.

“Does he treat you right?” Father Leroy licks the underside of that beautiful pink cock. “I just want to know he’s not hurting you.”

Yuri smiles down at him. “I love how you always worry about me. You’re the only one who worries about me.” Father Leroy kisses Yuri’s palm before Yuri cups his cheek.

“That’s what you like about me?”

“That, and you’re built. I got a thing for built guys, I guess.”

He takes Yuri by the hand and walks him to his room. It’s just a bed and a crucifix that’s mounted on the opposing wall, so the occupying priest can stare at it as he lies in bed, until he feels as if he’s the one hanging on it. “I hate that thing,” Yuri says.

“I don’t like Nikiforov.” Father Leroy sits on the mattress and Yuri sits on his lap. “I guess that makes us even.”

“Maybe your Daddy and my Daddy should fight it out.” Yuri licks his ear. “Whoever wins can have us both. See how that would work?”

Father Leroy falls backward, taking Yuri down with him, turns and flips him over so Yuri is staring up at him. Only him. Father Leroy touches his cheek, his lower lip, his throat. The mark he didn’t leave, right under his ear.

“What are you -?”

He gives him no warning. His attack is quick, he moves before Yuri can block him, and it’s effective. Yuri screams as Father Leroy tickles his belly.

Maybe that Russian Money Man can spoil him with sex and expensive things. But Yuri wouldn’t keep coming back to him if he gave him everything he needed. It was like Father Leroy and the Church: Yuri didn’t really own that expensive underwear. He didn’t own the mansion. He didn’t own a thing. He was just a temporary occupant. Pretty soon he would’ve passed on to another rich man, just like Father Leroy would be passed to another parish, and they would both be used and used and used until there was nothing left.

“Say Mercy.”

“No!” Yuri tries to squirm and wiggle and smack Father Leroy’s hands away. But he can’t. Or he won’t. It’s hard to tell and it doesn’t matter because he’s still going to get it. “No way in hell!”

Father Leroy ducks down and plants a raspberry right on his belly button. Yuri’s scream is so loud. It’s so good. And his smile is so bright. It makes the light from the naked overhead bulb golden. “I love you,” he says to Yuri. He always says it.

“Oh my god! You’re such a dork!” He reaches for Father Leroy. He pulls him up until their lips are close and their foreheads are pressed against each other and they share each other’s breath. “Touch me.”

He loves the way Yuri rolls his hips against his. He loves the way Yuri moans when he brushes his lips against his, back and forth, back and forth, until he opens his mouth Father Leroy can take him over with his tongue, his hands, and the weight of his body.

His dick is still hard. His legs are open and cradling his body and his arms - Yuri’s nails claw his back as Father Leroy feels his way down, slipping over his lubed up ass.

Yuri breaks the kiss. “I want it.”

He’s so silky and so tight and it makes Father Leroy shiver because it is so hard not to come. “You feel so good.”

“Jeh Jeh!” Yuri says his name. Yuri looks into his eyes. Yuri sees him, not the priest. Not the man he is supposed to be, but the man he is not allowed to be. The man with needs, with fear and lust and ego and love - so much love for a boy he can’t have. He sees this man and he wraps himself around him. He holds him, kisses him, moves as Father Leroy buries himself deep, deep inside of him. He doesn’t ever want to come back out. “Never stop! Jeh Jeh - !”

He knows he will have to.

++

Yuri Plisetsky didn’t listen to Father Leroy, and Father Leroy wasn’t the least bit surprised. He didn’t stay away from Joaquin - obviously. The puffy cut lower lip was proof, in a way. Anyone could’ve done it. But Joaquin was loading up a navy Honda Civic with two black trash bags full of Yuri’s clothes, to match his two black eyes, as Yuri sat perched in the back passenger’s seat, grinning like the cat that licked away all the cream. Apparently Joaquin and Yuri had worked out an understanding.

“What’s this?” Father Leroy nodded as Joaquin saluted and rambled back to the grey double doors.

“I got adopted,” Yuri laughed as if that was a joke. “He’s even Russian.”

“Who?” He asked too quickly.

Yuri answered long enough to let Father Leroy feel the full effect of his smirk. “Daddy’s name is Viktor Nikiforov. He promised to take really good care of me.”

Father Leroy had seen sugardaddies before. He could have called the police, but people like Nikiforov didn’t worry about the police. It would only drive the boy deeper into that seedy mess. Father Leroy knew he was asking for trouble, but he gave Yuri his card, anyway. “In case something happens.”

“Priests have business cards?” Father Leroy noticed the black nail polish. It was professional, not one of the slop jobs kids in Covenant House pulled together with magic markers they stole from Marie’s office drawers. “Wow. Can I send dick pics to your cell?”

“No.” He would, though. Father Leroy’s burning face was as good as _yes, please_. “If you need someone to talk to. Or if anything happens.”

Yuri smirked. “Anytime?”

“Okay - within reason. Don’t call me for cigarette money. Don’t call me ten times a day just to make small talk.”

“You mean flirt.” He turned the card in his hand.

“Just call me if you need me.”

Yuri looked at him. Glanced behind him as the trunk slammed shut, then looked at Father Leroy, but this time he brought the card to his lips, this time he kissed it, this time he kept looking at Father Leroy. Watching Father Leroy.

_What did he see?_

Except he wasn’t looking at his collar. He wasn’t looking at the cross dangling between them. He wasn’t looking at Father Leroy. He was looking at Jean-Jacques. He was looking at a man and thinking about all the things a man could do to him. And he could. He would -

“You think you’re slick, right?” He flips the card between his fingers. “You can play this off like you’re not coming on to me at all. But nah.” He crinkled his nose. “You still owe me a first move.”

++

Viktor Nikiforov likes to pretend he is an international spy. At least, this is what Yuri says about him. “I have no idea what he really does. He just acts like he’s in one of those creepy old James Bond movies”

Yuri looks like St Sebastian, sprawled out on Father Leroy’s bed, minus the arrows. He keeps looking up and he keeps rubbing his left nipple and he keeps sighing as if the feeling makes him infinitely sad.

“Do you feel unsafe?”

He smiles. “Do I get to stay here, if I say yes?”

“You know the answer to that.” Father Leroy pulls his collar off. That always goes first these days, even when Yuri isn’t sneaking into the rectory at night. “But I will personally see to your safety.”

“The social worker would shit bricks. They think you groom people already. You still play guitar for the Crispino twins?” He sits up a little when Father Leroy takes off his shirt. “I know it makes them seem super kinky and all that, but you know they’re not really into each other, right?”

“How do you know she has a problem with that?”

“She? Rodrick Rodman is our social worker. That’s his intern. She’s getting college credit to do his job.” Yuri tilts his head. “Rodrick likes me. He gives me special favors. He even took care of her reports about me and you. You’re fine, believe me.”

“You don’t have to live like this.” He needs to find a way to make the words true. “You are smart. There are academic programs and scholarships for kids in your position. You can be a lawyer. A psychiatrist. Anything you want. You don’t need to sell your body.”

“Just my mind.”

“What are you doing now? Reading philosophy? Or your little black book?” He rubs the double hockey stick tattoo on his forearm. “And before you say a word, this is _also_ jealousy talking. I love you. I don’t want you near people like Nikiforov or Rodman or anyone else like that. I love you.”

Yuri yawns. He’s not really tired; he’s not really trying to pretend it isn’t staged, either. “You fuck a whore.”

“No, I don’t.” Father Leroy climbs on top of the mattress. “You love a priest who sleeps with a fifteen-year-old boy.”

“No,” Yuri wraps his legs around his waist and pulls his hips up, “I don’t. I love a guy who has a shitty job.” He smiles back up at Father Leroy.

Father Leroy frames Yuri’s face in his hands. “Stop the joking for a second and just promise me you won’t go asking for any more special favors from anyone. And if that means we can’t see each other anymore, then we won’t.” He means it.

Yuri pouts. Then he laughs. “You should see your face right now! You really believed all that shit?”

“What?” Father Leroy blinks. “You made that all up?”

He laughs and laughs. Laughs so much he’s bucking underneath Father Leroy. “Yeah. The intern, the reports, Rodrick Rodman - that’s such a porn name!”

“You made me think - “

Yuri wipes the tears from his eyes and laughs a little more, just a little. “Aw, sorry. I’m just doing Viktor for favors. He feeds me, he gives me what I need, and all he wants is sex.”

“Isn’t that all I want? Yuri, all of this - ”

Yuri cups his face in his hands. “No. You’re willing to give up sex for me, remember?”

Father Leroy groans. “Don’t make me say it again.”

“No, no. I meant it when I said I love you.” Yuri whispers. The words are so soft. Like his lips. “You’d give up sex with me, to get me what _you_ think I need. Which I don’t.”

Father Leroy hid his face in Yuri’s hair. “I’m not giving you up, now.”

“Are you sorry?” Yuri nuzzles his ear.

Father Leroy inhales the stale perfume in his hair. “I wouldn’t be here if I really was.”

And Father Leroy can feel Yuri’s fingers running down his back. “But you think you should let me go.”

“I’m sorry that I can’t do it. But yes, I should.”

“Oh my god, where did your balls go? Can you still fuck me like this, or do we need to get you a tampon?”

Father Leroy pulls Yuri’s hands over his head. “You’ll pay for that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there really is a second chapter
> 
> sorry


	2. Chapter 2

He knew who it was even though he didn’t recognize the number. He wasn’t surprised the boy called him at 2am. He was only surprised that he waited a whole week to call him. 

“Is this your cellphone?” 

“Hello. How are you? I’m high as fuck and I think I’m at a club. Or maybe the moon. Thanks for asking.”

“Yuri, I need to know, in case I have to call you back.” He was somehow managing to pull on a sweatshirt, in the dark, while he kept his cracked 5G propped to his ear. “Is this your phone number?”

“Yeah. Be my hero. Come save me from the depths of— _what is this place? Nirvana? Is that supposed to be ironic because I don’t even -!_ Are you there?”

“Nirvana. Got it.” He put him on speakerphone and let Google do the rest. “That’s Stone Oak. What are you doing up there, Yuri?”

“Being in trouble. Help. Save me. There are so many ways to take advantage of me here. I need help making good choices.” And the phone call was over. 

He managed to get his shoes on the right feet. He needed to shave, his hair was a wreck but he stopped to brush his teeth and splash water on his face. 

He flew down Highway 281 with the windows to the Crown Vic down and the biting wind felt like the Autoroute 20 in Papa’s Dodge Ram. The parking lot was so blocked, half dressed people inched between bumpers, sometimes sideways, just to get to the street. Father Leroy parked on the other side of the street. 

Yuri was in there. Maybe. Or he could be getting back at Father Leroy for ignoring him all week, with a lie. He was not the only liar. Father Leroy knew he was not there to save Yuri Plisetsky. That's a lie. But maybe he could make it true. Maybe, if he really wass there, Father Leroy would manage to talk some sense into the boy over bass that felt like sex pounding through the concrete, in that tiny hot box of a building blazing in red neon just for Father Leroy, which was guiding him with a red arrow as if to say, _he’s right inside_. 

Father Leroy was a practical man. He didn’t believe in extrasensory perception or premonitions or even biblical revelations, but something was at the edge of his vision, something he couldn’t define, but he could feel. It was in the pulse of that bass. It made the air heavy. Father Leroy felt as if the atmosphere sunk when the bouncer let him in. When the door opened. When the lights exploded. When the bass took over every atom and shook them to their cores. He stepped into a crowd of half naked people. 

No one knew he was a priest. Women looked him over, some men, too. This was nothing new. But this time, they weren’t subtle. He knew what he looked like, even when he didn’t comb his hair, celibacy didn’t cause blindness. They didn’t look at him like he was a priest. No, they smiled and moved to make way for him when he smiled back. A brunette with purple lip gloss touched his arm. “Hello, lovely.” 

He was about to ask her if she had seen a pretty blonde with a bad attitude, when she turned to face him with a cork serving tray with several shots. She gave him the clear one. “Yuri Plisetsky is in the private booth, to your right.”

The laser lights pulsed with the bass, the bass pumped through him, as he parted a velvet curtain and saw the boy himself, golden and creamy, flushed and glossy, like a cat who’d been given too many pets. And he just might have, already. He was sitting between two men. 

One was shaggy with a beard. The other was clean cut. Neither of them looked young enough to be hanging out with a kid and they were sitting way too close. They draped themselves around him. They frowned when they saw Father Leroy. 

Yuri smirked. “Oh, save me!”

“Would you two gentlemen please excuse us?” Father Leroy asked them. 

“Wow, you really wanna grab them by the nuts and kick their teeth in.” Yuri rolled his eyes. “Okay assholes, get the fuck out.”

The bearded man moaned. “Seriously, baby boy? I got some coke back at our place.”

“You heard him,” Father Leroy cocked his head. 

They took their shot glasses. “Ah-ah-ah.” But Yuri shook his finger when they tried to take the Stoli’s bottle. “That was a present. You gave it to me, Mickey.” But Yuri kept his eyes on Father Leroy as they pushed past him. He snorted when the clean cut man muttered something like _asshole_. “Wow, you gonna keep underwhelming me, Father Leroy?”

He was pink, his cheeks and nose and the bare skin underneath his unzipped hoodie were all a soft pink in the dull, warm light from one burning candle. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Why?” He poured out a shot and held it up. “Did you save your shot so you could drink it with me? That’s very polite. And yes, please have a seat. Goddamn, you’ve got manners.”

He sat in this booth that reminded him of the cherry cough lozenges he used to suck on after hockey practice. Yuri scooted in, not too close, but enough to make Father Leroy wonder if he was wearing perfume or cologne. “How much?” he asked, as Yuri leaned in and clinked his glass against the one Father Leroy placed on the table. 

“I’m Russian. This is like water. Don’t be rude. Drink with me.”

One shot wouldn’t kill him. He’d been raised sneaking pulls off Papa’s Molsons and cured too many times by Maman’s whiskey to feel much off a two ounce shot. “Salud.” He waited for Yuri to hold his shot up, then he threw it back and turned the glass over. “Sour potato juice.”

Yuri turned it back, right side up. “You’re still gonna have another shot.”

“Not if I’m driving you home.” He nearly turned it around again, nearly. “Do you need to get anything? A jacket? A hat?”

“My gloves and purse?” Yuri poured out some more. “Relax, Father Leroy. I’m not going anywhere and neither are you. Have another. It’s just as harmless as the first.” He put his head on his shoulder. “God, you look so good dressed like a jock.”

Father Leroy closed his eyes. “This might be a joke to you, but a kid drinking in an adult nightclub does constitute an emergency to most responsible people.” Please, please he had to sit back up. His hand had to get off Father Leroy’s thigh. Yuri needed to _move_ , to get away, far away from his body. It was already being too honest. 

“You work out. I can tell.” His fingers squeezed. “Oh my god! Your legs are like steel!”

“Stress management.” He could’ve used a five mile run at that point. Yuri’s hand went further up his thigh. 

And he put it back when Father Leroy shoved it off. “You don’t meditate and shit?”

“I’m not a Buddhist.” 

“Okay,” his thumb was rubbing the top of his thigh, “what about praying?” His fingertip — it brushed him — just a little, but — “Ask God to make it all better.” 

He tried backing away, but he was at the edge of the booth, already. Yuri was rubbing his cheek against him. “If I have another drink, will you stop touching me?”

“I can’t believe you walked right into that.“ His fingers were closer. More than two now— it was four, all four— Father Leroy took a long, deep breath. Yuri actually rubbed and Father Leroy thought his head was going to explode. “Oh, please. You’re gagging for a handjob, and I only wanna get you drunk so I can give it to you.” 

“Yuri, this is not going to happen.” He tried to remember to count to ten, just like he used to do in the locker room: _inhale counting forward, exhale counting backwards_. 

“Holy shit! You don’t even pray when you’re fucking tempted.” His hand —Father Leroy forgot how to breathe -- and he was cupping him and his fingers were rubbing him, and it felt so -- Father Leroy crossed his arms. He stared at the dark velvet curtain. Then he felt a touch, the lightest touch, on his jaw. “Hey, look at me.” Then he felt it, something wet and something warm and something so, so soft against his cheek.

A kiss. 

“Look at me.”

_”Please stop?”_ He couldn’t do it. If he did his mouth would be too close to his and if his mouth was too close then Father Leroy knew he couldn’t pretend. He had to keep pretending. _”Please?”_

Yuri - oh no! He was moving, he was throwing his leg over Father Leroy’s lap and - no. Oh, no. He could feel him bounce — he was straddling his _lap_. “No drink means I get to touch you.” His mouth was warm and it was on Father Leroy’s neck. “That’s what you said.” His hands were on his zipper. “C’mon, don’t be such a pain in the ass!” And his hand went under the elastic of his Haynes. “Oh, fuck, you’re huge.” He moaned and his fingers curled around Father Leroy’s dick. “Fucking hard, too. You hard for me, Father?”

Yuri began stroking him, slowly, rubbing his thumb over the wet tip of his head, as it poked out of the foreskin. “You think you’ll come if I put your dick in my mouth?” He was nipping at his ear, now. “Not even suck it.” His hand was firmer, tugging and _Crisse_ , Father Leroy was thrusting into his hand, he was clawing the leather cushion, and he was trying to remember Yuri was only fifteen. Yuri needed his help. “If I got under the table, between your legs. My mouth on your dick. I bet you’d come so fast. You need it so bad, Father.”

He did. He needed it like he needed his next meal. Father Leroy nodded. He groaned when Yuri sat up and looked him in the eye and saw all the emptiness. That was when he accepted why he came here. It wasn’t to save Yuri. “I would come.” These words were whispered. “No, I want to.” Then he caught Yuri’s chin. He pulled Yuri toward his mouth. “Please forgive me.” 

“For what?” His lips tasted like vodka. His hair was so soft. And his hands, his tongue, his growl when Father Leroy wrapped his arms around him and his skin was so smooth and his chest - Father Leroy pulled the jacket back so he could see pink nipples just begging to be sucked. He snarled and he sucked it into his mouth. Sucked until Yuri sobbed and stopped stroking him off. “Father - more, c’mon.”

“Don’t you dare stop touching me.” Did he say that? Yes, he really did. He was slipping, sliding, falling and he didn’t even care. 

“What’s your name. I wanna call you by your name.”

“Jean-Jacques. _Touch me, damnit!_ ” 

“Jeh Jeh.” Nobody called him that since high school, but no one ever said it with that breathy little huff. “Does Jeh Jeh need to come?” 

His fingers dug into Yuri’s ass as Yuri’s hand went faster than before and Father Leroy stared at the puckered, wet nipple. Licked at the puckered, pink nipple and moaned, as he felt the rush fill him up, right before he sucked that sweet, pink flesh into his mouth: _”Yes!”_

And the boy, the boy was too clever. He knew how to slip through Father Leroy’s grip and snake his way down to the floor. Father Leroy was gasping for air as he looked down and saw the smirk and he saw those eyes and he felt the tug pulling his pants down, even more. 

And then he did it. He took Father Leroy’s cock. He thumbed the head, he licked his lips, and then he bent his head and Father Leroy -

_”Oh, sweet! Sweet, dirty - “_

So much, it was too much. It was the gleam in Yuri’s eyes, Yuri’s chuckle humming like the bass, Yuri’s mouth, just his mouth, _so warm and so sweet and wet and Jean-Jacques was coming so hard and Yuri was right there. Right there._

He wasn’t close to being done. He couldn’t be; not when that beautiful, drunk dirty boy climbed back onto his lap. Not when the boy grabbed his face and opened his mouth and showed him a mouthful of come. Not when he closed it and swallowed. And smiled. 

“You ready for some more fun?” He held up two talc pills embossed with smiley faces. “Trust me, it’s gonna blow your mind.” 

Father Leroy stuck out his tongue, like he did when he was a little boy taking First Communion, and let it dissolve on the roof of his mouth like a Eucharist wafer. Yuri chased his down with the vodka bottle, and offered it to Father Leroy. He let Yuri tilt the bottle and serve him, drank as much as he was offered and gasped when Yuri let up. 

“Man, we are gonna roll.” The boy used his mouth again. Pushed his lips against his and touched his tongue against his - and _no_ \- Father Leroy was not done. He would ever be done. The boy, this fifteen-year-old boy, he had taken him over and he could not lie to himself anymore. He needed this. Needed this sweet, tight body rutting against him. Needed something only for him. Not for a god who wasn’t there. Not to give away to parishioners who would never be delivered from misery. Only for him. 

He couldn’t get enough of those kisses. They were rough, as Yuri rucked up his sweat shirt and scraped his nails down Father Leroy’s chest. They were soft, as Father Leroy unzipped Yuri’s jeans with clumsy fingers that kept fumbling for the fly. Desperate as Father Leroy laid him out on the long padded bench and wrapped his hands around his beautiful, pink cock. He wanted to kiss him and keep kissing him, his sweet, dirty boy. 

He let Yuri pull off his sweatshirt. Yuri let him suck on his nipples while Father Leroy jerked him until he squirmed and whined and sobbed. _Oh my god - like that like that like that - oh fuck yeah like that!_

And then he had to do it. He had to slip down between his legs. He had to tongue that neat little belly button on the way. And he had to —

Father Leroy had never been so close to another dick. Never had his face, his mouth, just a breath away from one. And this one was flushed cherry pink and just made for every fantasy Father Leroy ever had. He licked the head and tasted just a little piss. He licked again, then looked up and saw Yuri. Yuri propped up on his elbows. Yuri watching him. 

“First time, I bet.” He smirked. “You know how to kiss and play with tits but you never sucked dick.” Yuri reached down. He grabbed his own cock. “Open your mouth.” Father Leroy opened his mouth. “Let me in.” He pushed his cock into his mouth, then grabbed the back of Father Leroy’s head and pushed down and thrust up and Father Leroy felt it hit the back of his throat and he gagged and he heard Yuri laugh and felt him pull back and thrust again and this time he closed his mouth around him. And he tasted the sweat and the piss and the soap and he heard the laughter turn into a moan and he swallowed and sucked and imagined the come inside this boy. Imagined it splurting out of his cock and into his mouth. Sliding down his throat. All for Father Leroy. All for Father Leroy. Every drop, all for him. He wanted it. He wanted it now. So he cupped Yuri’s balls. He rolled them in his hand as he let the boy fuck his mouth and used his mouth to fuck him right back. His mouth, his tongue, his spit and he felt his own dick twitch when Yuri screamed and Yuri thrust and Yuri came, shooting it down Father Leroy’s throat. 

Maybe it was a moment later. Maybe it was a decade later. Something had happened to time, something had happened, _period_ , because Father Leroy felt something like the sun shining in Yuri when he finally sat up and smiled. “Cockslut.”

Something pushed them out of the booth. Maybe it was the bass, permeating everything. Maybe it was the lights, flashing like beacons for all ships and they sailed toward them. Yuri slid over his body like warm water, like music, and bodies writhed around them, ground against them as Yuri pressed himself so close to him he felt like he would never be whole again without Yuri. Yuri, wild, beautiful, Yuri. 

“We are rolling like gods!”

Father Leroy looked at his hand. “No stigmata.” Only warmth, lush, sweet warmth, vibrating from the pulse they shared. 

“You don’t need one!” Yuri cupped his face and Yuri blasted through him because Yuri kissed him, and Yuri rearranged him with one swipe of his tongue. “You just need this.”

He felt saved, saved by the boy he thought he could save. 

++

“Wake up, stupid.”

It was bright, and his neck felt so cold without the soft weight he was keeping tucked under his chin. It was so warm and he wanted it back. 

“Viktor is here to pick me up.”

_tap tap tap_

He blinked as Yuri turned to his side and flipped off a man with platinum blonde hair - almost silver - in a black three piece suit, carrying an apricot toy poodle, waved. “Good morning, gentlemen.” He was smiling as if he didn’t care. 

Yuri pressed his cheek against the back of the driver’s seat as he groped for his jeans. “I called you. I said I’d be home before lunch.” He put a pair on Father Leroy’s chest. “Here’s yours.”

“Hurry, Yurochka. And for the record, you left a voice message.” He focused that smile on Father Leroy. “I take it you’re JJ.” 

He felt so hollow, and he could feel a heavy vise tightening on his skull, and Yuri was shoving his knees, _move, move_ , and the joints ached when he struggled with pulling his two-ton head upright. He knew he wouldn’t break under the weight, but he would feel like he would. He had to find out what time it was. But he had so many pockets in these pants. There. Oh. Oh, wonderful. “It’s ten in the morning.” And his calendar alerts -And _sixteen missed calls_. Twenty-two texts. “Mrs May is probably calling the police at this point.” 

Nikiforov asked, “You like phones. They’re great, yes?” 

Yuri was cursing as he thrust his hips up so he could shoehorn himself into those ridiculously tight jeans. Not the loose-fitting ones Father Leroy got him. He remembered peeling those off and feeling Yuri wash all over him with his skin and his mouth. 

“You want to know how I found out about this JJ?” He kept smiling, and Father Leroy suddenly realized a tall, tall dirty blond man in a trench coat was standing next to Nikiforov. He was holding something in his hand. “You’ll have to get out of the car.” Nikiforov shrugged and smiled and Father Leroy felt fear like he never felt before as he pulled Yuri down and rolled him into the floorboard. 

“What the fuck, asshole! That guy is holding a phone!”

Oh. 

The door opened and the tall man held pushed his hand, instead of his head, inside. Then he played it. 

_Hey, Daddy. I’m kinda busy back before noon. Playing with Jeh Jeh._

“Hello, JJ,” said Nikiforov. The man stepped back and sunlight came back. It felt like fishhooks. “I’m so glad you had fun, Yura. And thank you for keeping close to home so I’d get reports. One of my own clubs. Very thoughtful.”

He was going to die. He was going to die and when everyone found out how he died he would break their hearts. And he probably deserved all the anger they would heap on his memory. But he couldn’t let Yuri die.

“He’s just a kid. Blame me.” He got out of the car. He put his hands up. 

And Nikiforov laughed. He pointed and turned to the tall man and they both laughed and both pointed. “Oh, wow! And those tattoos. Did you see the tramp stamp?” The tall one lit a cigarette. 

Nikiforov snorted. “He thinks we’re gangsters! This is great.”

Father Leroy knew what they were saying. He didn’t speak Parisian French, but French was French. And being naked on the side of Stone Oak Road, with a car door keeping mid-morning traffic from verifying that he was uncircumcised, was still public indecency. Father Leroy nearly fell as he hopped into his pants, barefooted, on gravel. But he didn’t. 

“You’re not going to kill the boy, right?” He kept it English. He didn’t want to tell them more about himself with his Québécois. 

“I swear to fucking god!” Yuri popped out of the car. “Last month you were a spy and now you’re a Russian mobster?” Yuri stood right up to him. Father Leroy could only see the back of his tangled blonde head and the amused smirk on Viktor's face as Yuri reached down and pulled a cigarette and lighter from Viktor’s pocket. “What are you looking at, Christophe?”

“Oh, Peaches! It looks like hell.” The tall man, Christophe, looked at his watch, then Father Leroy. “It’s time.”

“Well then,” Nikiforov winked at Father Leroy as he raised his arm. As Yuri went under his arm and blew an angry cloud of smoke at the sky. “Thank you for indulging my other pet.” He looked down. He turned and began to take Yuri away. Then he stopped. He looked over Yuri’s head. And he smiled. “Merci, Père Leroy.” And they waited in front of a silver sports car. “Nice tramp stamp.” A Porsche. 

_Crisse!_

He needed his shirt. He needed coffee. The Church Secretary was calling him and he had no idea how to explain himself without lies. But when he saw Yuri Plisetsky look over his shoulder, when he saw those eyes and he saw that face, Father Leroy didn’t regret a thing. No, he wanted more. 

++

He was confronted during his last year of seminary. 

“I’m not asking as your Spiritual Advisor.” Monsignor Dubois was sitting at his desk. Jean-Jacques was sitting on a wooden chair, the kind he would have sat in when he was a kid at St Eugene’s Elementary. “I’m asking, as one man asking another man a simple question. Why the priesthood? Why does a young man in the modern world want to become a priest?”

He opened his mouth. 

“And don’t tell me you had a vision or a calling.”

He closed his mouth. 

Monsignor Dubois held up his palms. “How about this? Was it about boys or girls?”

He fingered the cuff of a white Oxford shirt Maman had sent him in a care package to seminary. It was a little too tight. The sleeves didn’t cover his wrists. “Both.”

“Ah. Then boys. Because girls aren’t an issue with conservative Catholics like your parents.” He smiled. “You don’t think you can pray the gay away, do you?”

“I - Monsignor Dubois - “

“Son, you’re not a total idiot. So I’m speaking to that part of you that's preoccupied with how he looks. You will not be given super powers when you are ordained. You will no more be able to stop desiring men than you can now. And it will be worse, not because you suddenly learned how to trust God. God will give you so much room to doubt, my boy, you will wonder how people don’t stand up during Mass and denounce you as a con and a fraud. You will be alone, you will lose your faith, many times, possibly forever, and you will remember that one thing you can’t have.” He held up a finger. 

“What are you saying? Give up? After four years I’m supposed to stop because I might lose faith and be sexually frustrated? Monsignor, I haven’t touched another person since I was a kid in high school. I can handle celibacy. I want to be celibate.”

“Being gay is hardly a crime. And most of us agree, it is no sin. You made an extreme choice, son. I’m sure your parents would understand.”

He took a deep breath. “Maybe I used to think it would upset Papa. And Maman would worry about my soul. But they wouldn’t disown me.” He smiled as he thought about Christmas Day, about the skate blades he would always get, about his brothers and sisters crawling through wrapping paper, shrieking and laughing. About Alain and Natalie, Maman and Papa, sitting together on that threadbare sofa, smiling as their kids wallowed in their presents. They never got anything for each other. They always said seeing Jean-Jacques and his siblings like this was their gift. “Serving other people is rewarding. And I’m good at it. I was the only seminarian who volunteered three times to go to the Mexico City NHP. It sounds corny and everyone says it makes them happy to do it — I know. But everyone says it because it’s true, right?”

“You’re very naive. You are pretending this won’t be an issue.”

“Okay, so maybe I’m naive. I don’t know how to set low expectations for myself.” Jean-Jacques’ stomach turned. “You want me to quit, and that’s okay. You’ll change your mind.”

“Son, I want you to stay.” He laughed.”Jean-Jacques, everyone has pride. You think you’re stronger than anything. You need to recognize that you’re not. Don’t speak - “ Monsignor Dubois shook his head when Jean-Jacques tried “- I’m just telling you not to assume the little high you get will keep you warm at night. Because it won’t. And neither will Jesus. And if you happen to find something that does,” he spread out his hands, “you are only human.”

“Seriously.” Jean-Jacques rubbed his face. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.”

Monsignor Dubois asked, ”Is this the first conversation you have had in regard to your sexuality?”

“No. Ah, my ex-girlfriend, she figured it out. I told her I wanted to wait, to be pure and all that. She figured out I just didn’t want to have sex with her.”

“When you were in high school.” 

Jean-Jacques rubbed his face again. 

++

This is the last time he will see Yuri Plisetsky. He studies Yuri’s profile, the line of his nose, the lush lips, the sweep of his feather-fine hair, as Yuri reads the letter. “Is this for real?”

Father Leroy wants to comb the hair out of his face one more time. He wants to bend down and kiss those lips, one last time. He wants to take him to his bedroom and hold him, just hold him, his precious boy, until time ends. He won’t. He can’t. Because it’s over. “Yes.”

“Grandpa, _alive_.” He throws the letter on the rectory kitchen table and he bends his head in the rectory kitchen, over a cup of Folgers Instant he will never drink. “It said St Petersburg.”

Father Leroy has finished his cup. “It was delivered to Covenant House this morning.” He is still holding the empty, chipped mug. “Last listed residence, so - “ He didn’t mention how he never disclosed Yuri’s current address, or how he secretly photocopies the original letter, still sitting on Marie’s overflowing in box. 

Yuri takes his cup. He won’t drink. He won’t look at Father Leroy. He just sits and he just stares down at the cup. “I’m going home. I’m going back to Russia.”

“Yes.” He wants to beg him not to go. He wants to tell him he can live here, not with Nikiforov, but with him, stay in the rectory, sleep in his bed every night. But that’s crazy. That’s impossible. And soon, seeing Yuri Plisetsky, sharing the same air, seeing his face, those things will be just as impossible. 

Yuri touches his arm. “I knew you meant it, that thing about giving me up, to help me.” 

Father Leroy wants to beg. He wants to get on his knees and take Yuri’s hands in his and he wants to plead: _stay with me_. He pats his hand instead. “When you are older, when you think of me, I hope you don’t judge me harshly.”

Yuri puts the cup on the table. Yuri stands up. He holds out his hand. Father Leroy takes it. And he takes Father Leroy in his arms. He looks into Father Leroy’s eyes. He touches his cheek. “Maybe a little. You finally make the first move and it’s to break up with me.”

He smiles. He knows his eyes are watering but he can’t do anything but keep smiling as Yuri kisses the ring on his finger. As Yuri rubs his cheek against his knuckles. “Goodbye, Yuri Plisetsky.”

“Goodbye, Jeh Jeh.”

++

Years from now, he will step off a private plane, and step into a black limousine, surrounded by Monsignors in cassocks like his, rattling off breakneck Italian he will not be anywhere near keeping up with. 

They will speed through Rome, and it will feel like they are traveling through time as they pass ruins bracketed between apartment buildings and restaurants. They will be going to Vatican City. 

And he will see a tall blonde in a black suit when he walks across St Peter’s square. He will have been haunted by that shade of blonde, for years. He will be used to feeling his heart ache a little, and he will dismiss the possibility that he is actually seeing his Yuri, ever again. 

He will sit in meetings for hours. As a likely bishop, he will be expected to sit in many more over the years. Then he will take a tour of the artifacts of the Vatican museum, he will stare up as he stands underneath the Sistine Chapel. He will wonder if Yuri ever saw pictures of this place. He will make a mental habit of wondering what Yuri would think. It will be ask close to sharing a moment with him, as he will be able to get. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

The voice will be rough, slightly accented, and deep. Monsignor Leroy would have been used to his heart leaping out of his chest any time he thought he heard Yuri’s voice. Used to dismissing the likelihood. He will chalk it up to wishful thinking — until he looks down. Until he sees. And then he will believe.

He will see a man in a black suit, a man with hair the color of Monsignor Leroy’s deepest hope and eyes the color of his sweetest dreams. And a smile - the sun will shine again when that smile beams back at him. “Hey, Jeh Jeh.” 

“Hey.”


End file.
